


Love Lies Waiting

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Past Underage, Post-Coital, Sibling Incest, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-20
Updated: 2006-06-20
Packaged: 2018-05-13 12:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean explores his new guitar.  Sam explores Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Lies Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, mona1347 fought her way here, to rock my beta. Gmail…you have no power over me.

Every bone in Sam's body seems heavy enough to sink into the bed and his tingling flesh light enough to float away. He'd like to sleep, but Dean's noodling around with the guitar and Sam wants to listen and watch. He turns around so his feet are towards the headboard, pillows his chin on his crossed hands and watches through half-lidded eyes as Dean fumbles through bits and pieces of a dozen different songs.

He can tell Dean hasn't played in a long while, but he can also tell Dean was once pretty good at it and that he loves it, face intent and relaxed as his fingers dance over the strings.

"What'd you sell it for?" Sam asks suddenly. Dean puts his fingers over the strings to still them. "The red one."

Dean's half-smile widens and turns rueful. He doesn't seem surprised that Sam knows about the other guitar, the one Dean bought when Sam left for California. "Four boxes of rounds, couple bags of rock salt and a chunk of silver the size of my thumb." Dean holds up his hand, marking with his forefinger the size of the chunk.

Sam nods. His belly tightens in irritation and helpless anger; not with Dean, but with Dad. Then he sighs. No point in holding grudges against the dead. "Yeah, well, don't sell this one, okay?"

Dean's eyes flick to him and Sam knows that some of that irritation bled into his voice. But Dean only shakes his head. "No." His palm traces the curve of the variegated honey-brown of the guitar's body like it slides across Sam's skin from ribs to hip.

It hasn't been nearly long enough, but Sam puts out his hand, touches Dean's knee. "C'mon. You've got plenty of time to play with the guitar. Come play with me for a while or I might get jealous."

Dean snorts and Sam shifts around so that the sheet falls from his hips, leaving him bare and spread-legged, canted up on his elbows. Dean's eyes heat and he gets up. Sam's gratified, though, by the care with which Dean puts the guitar back in the case before he comes to join Sam on the bed.

Sam lets Dean get as far as the foot before he pushes himself up onto his knees. His thumbs fit into the hollow of Dean's hips, his fingers spidering lightly over the small of Dean's back and the starting curve of his ass until Dean shivers. Dean makes a move for the bed again, and Sam pushes him back a second time, just holding him there until Sam sees pink break out faintly underneath the camouflage of Dean's freckles.

"What?" he asks, embarrassed and brusque.

"Nothing," Sam answers blandly, still rubbing his thumbs back and forth across the smooth soft skin of Dean's hips.

Dean holds still another thirty seconds, his breath starting to come faster and his chest flushing. Finally, he rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Sam, I thought I was coming over here to get my crank yanked."

Sam only grins. "Classy, Dean."

Dean smirks at him. "That's me. Genuine class."

The smirk falls away as Sam moves his hand, sliding it slowly between Dean's legs. Not touching his cock, but instead whispering over the hairs on Dean's thighs, coming back to trace underneath and then cup the full softness of his balls. Dean's stance widens like he's not even thinking about it and something sort of wild and just a little bit desperate lights up behind his eyes.

"I finally figured it out," Sam says softly, one hand working, steady working, and the other holding Dean in place where Sam can look at him, watch those changes of pleasure and want go across his face and mouth and eyes.

"What's that?" Dean sounds slightly breathless, rocking a little in place with the movement of Sam's hand. The pink is still burning through his skin like sunburn. The lines at the corners of his eyes bunch as if he'd like to look away, except for Sam staring a challenge right at him and Dean never backs down from challenges.

"Why you wouldn't let me look at you, all those years." Sam swallows, throat dry. "My head on your shoulder or facing in, towards the wall when you'd touch me…later, always me on my knees or your face turned down or away..." He lets go of Dean's hip long enough to slide that hand up Dean's body to his jaw, his thumb brushing over Dean's mouth. The skin is dry, flaking. Dean always bites his lips when he's worried. Dean's lips part a little and his teeth nip Sam lightly as he crowds a little closer to the foot of the bed and Sam. "I always wanted… I used to beg you."

"I remember."

Sam doesn't know if Dean really says the words or whether it's just what he wants to hear. It doesn't matter. He reaches with both hands and tugs Dean down onto the bed, onto him. "I know it's just a guitar," Sam says as they shift and settle, as their hands roam and play on skin that gets hotter by the moment. Their hips make small circles, away and towards.

"Don't," Dean says, his stubble grinding ownership into Sam's collarbone.

Sam grabs Dean's jaw and drags his face up so their eyes are only inches apart. "I just wanted you to know. I see you now. I mean, I did before, but I _see_ you now."

Dean's eyes flicker, the shift of some huge shadow that Sam can only see in moments like this. He still manages to sound utterly bored as he asks, "So're you gonna suck my dick, or what?"


End file.
